


too broad to cross

by skyjacklegion



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, ambiguous bullshit, slashy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjacklegion/pseuds/skyjacklegion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Give me your hand" they say and the world falls to pieces</p>
            </blockquote>





	too broad to cross

**Author's Note:**

> This is some weird shit I don't even.

"Give me your hand," he says. He does, the stump of his newly missing finger still bleeding and he watches as he kisses the bandage, lips soft where the rest of him is all hard angles and barely restrained violence.

"Give me your hand," he repeats and the missing arm is like a slap to the face, the gap in their friendship too wide, too broad to cross with the stretch of his fingers. 

\---

"Give me your hand," she says and he does, the blade at his throat making him smile as she slides her tabard from her shoulders and flicks her skirt with a swish of her hips.

"Give me your hand," he repeats and he presses both their hands to her belly and waits for the kick, waits for the gentle nudge that makes something close to a smile slide across worn, scarred lips. He's a warrior like his mother and he never sees him again because she's gone, gone across the sea where he cannot follow and duty never leads him. 

\---

"Give me your hand," she says. He does because she's beautiful, because she's special, because she's untouchable. He climbs in her window and takes her hand and she laughs at him as her dress falls to the floor, the soft hair on her legs and arms rasping against his knees and elbows.

"Give me your hand," he repeats and she does, fingers pressing into the crook of his arm and she smiles, brushes her lips over the scar on his own and slides their fingers together. 

\---

"Give me your hand," he says and takes it without waiting for it to be offered. He has a knife in the other and laughs at him when he blanches, talking about old rituals and the mess his life has become. He doesn't let go of his hand and that's okay too.

"Give me your hand," he repeats as he hauls him up from the ground and the smile he gets in return, discarded hat hanging from bruised fingers is well worth the punch to the gut, well worth the reiteration of the hollow when they let go.

\---

"Give me your hand," she says and he takes it, climbing up the wall after her like a man possessed. She's fire and light and everything he's ever wanted and more but she always stays ahead, stepping on tiles that should crack but don't. 

"Give me your hand," he repeats and she laughs at him and refuses, tongue caught between her teeth and he lets her go the same way he lets everything go, fingers itching for contact and three feet of distance between them.

\---

"Give me your hand," she says and the book she shoves into willing fingers is heavy and worn at the edges, just like he is. She doesn't care, fingers sliding through the grey in his beard and he laughs, chasing her knuckles with kisses until she smacks him to make him concentrate.

"Give me your hand," he repeats and she does, their rings clinking together as she curls into his side and they wait for the end to come.

\---

"For fucks sake, give me your hand," he says and Desmond laughs at him because he has no idea what that means and the way he's asking is so him, so unique that it's the only thing that lets him separate history from memory and reality all at once. 

"Give me your hand," he repeats, desperate and unsure and the weight of his fingers against his own is enough to set him to gasping, the ground hard over his knees as he falls, apologies caught in the shaking of his shoulders and the knowledge that what's done cannot and will not be changed.


End file.
